


just one last night

by laurore_stormwitch



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M, I'm not sure what this is, Sad and Sweet, Sharing secrets, not angst just sad, zoyalai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29699601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurore_stormwitch/pseuds/laurore_stormwitch
Summary: Since the "holding hands in the quiet of his bedchamber" snippet came out I'm depicting a thousand different way for that scene to play out. This is just one of them, in which Zoya decides to reveal Nikolai one more of her carefully coddled secrets and take advantage of one of the last moments of peace they'll have.
Relationships: Nikolai Lantsov & Zoya Nazyalensky, Nikolai Lantsov/Zoya Nazyalensky
Comments: 4
Kudos: 42





	just one last night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm physically unable to write short fics. I started thinking it was gonna be brief and ended up like this, hope you like it!

“I will leave the vials here as a precaution. I know you’re comfortable enough and I trust you to have the demon at bay, but we can’t ever be too careful.”

Zoya looked outside the window, mustering the courage to say the next words. As everyone said their goodnights, she had lingered in his sitting room, following him to his bedchambers and making small talk to fill the space between them. There wasn’t a real reason why she was there with him, except the pathetic excuse she was ashamed to have come up with. To be frank, anyone could have delivered the vials to him, it didn’t have to be her. Zoya just wanted it to be her, just for tonight. And she didn’t miss the knowing look on Tamar face when she agreed to let her handle it; yet she ignored it anyway, turning on her heels. She absentmindedly touched her neck while she put them on his nightstand; it felt bare at the absence of the heavy key she used to lock him in every night before the Fold. Her mind escaped her; at times she felt as if her and Nikolai were like distant planets, bound to orbit for their eternity around a bright sun without ever getting to touch it and be embraced by its warmth. They would circle each other, and when they came too close the flames of the sun scorched them. So they continued their march, growing distant again. But the orbit was set; they couldn’t steer away from it, it kept them in place, preventing them to drift too far from one another. Zoya let out a tired breath, watching the vials. _You’re losing your cynicism to Nikolai’s sentimental nonsense. What’s gotten into your head?_ Now everything seemed to be going on smoothly, with Nikolai having regained control; the only precaution was for him to keep taking a mild sleeping draught just in case the demon came knocking in his mind. Her help or her presence weren’t needed anymore; even this small moment alone felt like a theft. She inhaled, steadying her voice to sound sharp, emotionless. 

“Tamar and Tolya have more of this if it’s needed. Even the stronger one we used.” She closed her eyes under the dim light of the night, savouring the feeling of being in this room before dragging the dagger in. “It’s best if I don’t come here again. You can’t afford any more whispers now that you’re engaged. Especially since your wife to be isn’t exactly enthusiastic.”

A deeply buried part of her wanted Nikolai to protest, to find a way to still have her with him every evening. Her pragmatic side, on the contrary, reminded her that driving a wedge between them was the wise choice to make. She heard him sit on the bed with a sigh and turned to see his shoulders dropping; a defeated Nikolai was a hard sight to take. 

“I suppose you’re right. Although I was almost getting used to it. I’ll miss your goodnight spite.”

“I’ll let you have enough of that at any other hour of day.” 

“Make sure there’s no shortage of it. I don’t know how I’ll survive without hearing you delightfully insulting me every two sentences.” 

He grinned. Leave it to Nikolai to find the strength to make everything seem easier. Zoya scoffed, taking a few steps until she stood in front of him. 

“You look awful.” She stated, eyeing his strained face. 

“See? How can I go to sleep without this?”

“You’ll sleep just fine. You just need to survive until the marriage.”

He groaned, casting a glare at her. She could see how much he hated this, how much he hated every time she was the one to mention it. It was hard not to comfort him, but it wasn’t her role to play.

“Come on, Nikolai. You only have to stand on an altar being handsome and say yes.”

“Ah, but saying yes to people is not an easy task, Zoya. I like to be a contrarian.”

“Believe me, _I know_ ”, she huffed, “It’s going to be quick and painless.” He considered her thoughtfully for a while, leaning back a little and resting his hands on the mattress, tilting his head in her direction. Her brow shot up with a questioning look.

“You might be eager to get rid of me, but you don’t seem excited for this either, you know.” 

Nikolai pointed out, carefully pondering every word, an expectant look on his face as he studied her. _Oh, bold of him_ , Zoya thought, caught off guard by his direct remark. She faltered for a moment, thinking he didn’t really know how right he was. He could never know. She dismissed him with a shrug of her shoulders, trying to look unfazed.

“We’re marrying you off to someone who tried to kill you, it’s not a choice I’d define perfect. And I don’t like weddings as a general rule.” 

Half-truths were better than nothing. _I especially don’t like yours_. She put her best annoyance in the words, pursing her lips and sitting gracefully beside him on his bed, pulled here by the string that tied her to him. Zoya purposely ignored how dangerous this action was. A small part of her still wanted to savour these moments until she could. He scoffed, amused, shuffling more near to her, poking her playfully with his shoulder. 

“Why would that be? You’re such the romantic type.”

Zoya glared at him, tossing her mane of black hair over her shoulder.

“What would you know about that?” 

“Nothing, really.” She told herself she imagined the displeased tone he had while admitting this. “Are you?”

She pondered his question for a moment. No, she was most definitely not the romantic type. Nothing about her previous conquests had been romantic. Since she was little, she had know romance was not waiting in her life. 

“I don’t think so. Not that I had the chance to find out. I stopped believing in these charades at a very young age.”

“Why is that?”

 _That’s a complex answer, Nikolai._ One made of many stories, one that started soon in her life. She remembered showing him the scars on her back. This was no different, just another one of the wounds she had tried to heal. Why was it so natural to reveal her most guarded secrets to him? When had he began to unravel her like that? The words rolled out of her mouth before she could really think on them.

“At nine years old they tried to march me to _my_ own wedding. Maybe that’s why I never grew fond of them.”

Zoya let her hands rest on the bed too, next to his, straightening her spine and keeping her posture up. Her chin was held high as she spoke. She didn’t want to look and find his compassion, his pity. But Nikolai was not like that, he would never be like that; he would just keep surprising her, over and over. After a wave of shock flowed by, he looked at her with a rumbling rage inside him. Despite herself, she was touched by his fierce reaction. 

“What?” He sputtered, trying to control himself. His eyes never left her. 

“We had nothing when I was young. So, my mother tried to sell the only thing she could make profit from: my beauty. But something happened, and the wedding was stopped.” 

“You were a child, Zoya.”

“I was”, she conceded, “but it didn’t really matter.” He shook his head with a troubled look.

“It does matter. What happened?” _You matter, Zoya._ That’s what she heard in his strained tone.

“Someone saved me.” 

Her voice wavered and cracked a bit at the thought of her aunt. Sweet Liliyana, brave Liliyana. She left and now Zoya was on her own on the ship with the two-star flag, sailing a restless sea. She couldn’t find the words to say this; it was a pain so carefully nestled in her heart that she feared she would’ve still succumbed to it, even with Juris guidance to accept it. Her lungs grew tighter, the weight of that loss pressing on her chest. She felt Nikolai moving on her side, regaining his calm: he was so close she could feel his warmth and the scent of his skin, still salty after the year since he abandoned Sturmhond. Their hands were already almost touching each other; suddenly, his made a shift and came to rest on hers, curling gently on it. She tensed for an instant and sucked a sharp breath in, but when she let herself relax, she found that his touch was soothing. It was an intimate and delicate gesture, driven by the despair he sensed even through her perfect stillness. 

As he held her tight, Zoya felt she was not steering the ship alone in this particular storm. Her eyes wandered around, trying to distract herself: she foolishly thought how much she really liked this room. She liked the walls painted blue, a testament to the longing Nikolai felt for his days as a privateer; as much as she gave him hell about it, she enjoyed that part of him, the ruthless pirate and explorer. She could see why he chose that tint, it was comforting for him too, made him feel at home. It was so much like her own chambers, with the towering waves painted all over them. She glanced briefly at him under her lashes and found him silently looking at her. He didn’t push her, didn’t ask for more, just waited patiently for her to decide whether to go on or not. 

Silence enveloped them like fog on a winter morning. The sea wasn’t troubled anymore; Nikolai was there with her, in a place that seemed to be always made just for him. She inhaled deeply.

“Then I was the one to save us in return. My power came through, and I cracked the roof of the church open. I was taken to the Little Palace and begun my training. You know the rest of the story, or some of it.” She turned to him: his eyes were hard to read in the faint light of the room. He was looking at her with marvel, and something else she couldn’t quite place. Something that dangerously looked like a kind of affection they couldn’t indulge on. The shadow of a smile flashed on him. 

“It’s perfectly in your character.”

“What is?”

“To tear down a church at nine years old. Highly predictive of what came next.” 

She smiled too. She couldn’t help but smile at him. 

“Tolya might frown at my disregard for faith.”

“He most definitely would.”

Zoya knew she should’ve let go of his hand. She could hear his breathing, and if they stayed silent enough, she was so close she could hear his heartbeat. It was an intoxicating feeling. 

“Before that happened, I dreamed of being a soldier, as I told you once. After that, I became one. Just not the kind I thought I’d be.”

All the lives she could’ve had flashed behind her eyes. She saw herself in an olive drab coat, serving in the First Army, with a rifle in her hands instead of the wind as her ally. She saw a little girl taken too soon, her suffering and helplessness. A young woman working in Liliana’s shop, who grew up to marry a nice farmer and be a mother, maybe. Lives that weren’t hers anymore, and that she would never trade, lives that peaked every now and then in her nightmares. There was another future too that she saw, distant and blurry: one full of Nikolai’s light, one she couldn’t dwell on, that was lost before it was even possible to conceive it. And yet their hands were still bound, none of them brave enough to break the connection.

“You’re still a soldier. A general, as a matter of fact. And your beauty is still something that makes people do insane things, isn’t it?” 

She rolled her eyes at his teasing tone, wondering if _he_ would do insane things for her.

“Beauty is a double-edged blade, Nikolai, as much as any other virtue. You can let others use you for it or be the one to weaponize it. They tried the first with me, so I learned to do the second. I shaped my appearance to be something that I could exploit for my own goals; be it to be respected, to gain favours, to have whoever man I wanted to toy with. To be the one in control. The way I look is a sword just like the ones made from steel.”

She would never admit she threw in the "toying with men" part just to gain a reaction. Not that it wasn’t true, or that she wasn’t proud of it, because she was. That was just how they were used to provoke each other, and none of them usually yield to the taunts, or they would just keep answering with the same snarky remarks. But this time, Nikolai _flinched_. A shadow went through his face and betrayed his inner turmoil, and it looked more like remorse than empty jelousy. She supposed she should’ve taken it as a victory and be satisfied, but this win just felt sour and left a bitter taste in her mouth. They were getting worse at this game. _What are you thinking of, Nikolai?_ He nodded without answering; they both knew he understood this well. His charm was a weapon too, one he learned to wield at a young age, one that brought him to success and distracted his enemies many times. He began to brush his thumb on her palm, squeezing her hand lightly.

“I know you don’t need me to tell you. But you’re so much more than that.”

For all her confidence and withering glares, he seemed to know how sometimes she still felt like the child being dragged to marry an old man. How sometimes she was still scared, and lost, and lonely. He knew this was the reason why she left the lamp burning for him when she wished him goodnight: because everyone is afraid of their monsters when we’re alone in the darkness. Her heart missed his rhythm and she tightened her hold too, a way to told him she understood, that the gratitude she felt was too hard to voice. Zoya wondered how someone could feel so full and empty at the same time, until Nikolai interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Do you remember the night in Ivets? The carriage ride back?” 

_I remember everything, Nikolai. Every word you have ever said to me._ She cocked her head towards him, some curls falling on her face, imitating his teasing tone. 

“Want me to read your fate again?” 

“What future do you see in the stars now, general?” 

Her lips quirked in another smile. _Wife_ , that’s how he called her that night. She didn’t miss how he seemed to have casually chosen another title now; it was a joke they could hardly afford anymore, one that caused too much ache somewhere deep inside of them. She kept the lightness in her tone, but replied with honesty.

“I see a war. A war fought on many fronts, but with many allies too. With friends. And I see a great young King leading his country to victory, against all odds. I see you rebuilding Ravka.” 

“We.” He corrected as quickly as if it was an instinct. _We_. As if it could ever be a reality. She shook her head with a fond smile. 

“This is your fate, Nikolai. You’ll read mine another time.”

He was still grazing her palm. With a sudden movement, he intertwined his fingers in hers, looking at their bound hands as if they were something sacred. She was all too aware of his warming touch on her skin. There they were, closer to their burning star than they’ve ever been.

“You really mean it.” It was not a question: he heard the certainty in her voice. 

“I do. I believe in you.”

Nikolai locked his eyes in hers, casting her a longing look that made her want to fall at his knees. A whisper came out of him.

“And even if he wins, how much will his eager country take from the young King?”

The despair in his voice sent a stabbing pain through her. _It will take you from me_. And there it was, as their orbits almost crossed, the fire blazing, telling them it was time to say their goodbyes. The weight of his hand felt suffocating now; she trembled and untangled their hands abruptly, and it was like someone had just tore a limb away from her body. The fear had clutched her heart: an icy wind swept her, as the armour of the general slipped back into place and she cast aside her desires. Zoya remembered why she was here, what she had told herself. Who she was and what she had to do to save them. Things that were too easy to forget when Nikolai was standing so close. _You can’t be here anymore_. She couldn’t have this weakness. He seemed to want to reach for her, leaning slightly towards her, struck by her sudden shift in mood. She slowly got up, smoothing her kefta.

“This is a broken place, Your Highness. You will bring this drowning man to shore, of that much I’m sure.” 

Even in the quiet of the room, Zoya could swear she heard him shout at her to stay. This she couldn’t endure; she paced towards the door, turning around to him when she trusted herself to be far enough not to surrender. The fire crackled, lighting up Nikolai’s golden pained eyes. 

“But we will pay a price nonetheless.”

For days to come she would ponder wherever she had found the willpower to walk away from the safety of his hold. Zoya pulled the handle and got out without looking back, hearing the lock click behind her. Her steps were unsure, fragile. She wondered how many times she had left to hear this sound before his door would close forever, never to be opened for her again. 

**Author's Note:**

> am I the only one totally in love with the fact that both Zoya and Nikolai chambers are painted like the sea? soulmate calling


End file.
